


i hate u, i love u

by herojulice



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst with a Happy Ending, I'm Sorry, K has feelings, M/M, OOC, Proko is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7849039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herojulice/pseuds/herojulice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you had the balls to ask him how much does it hurt, seeing K and Ronan Fucking Lynch next to each other with K’s lips on Lynch’s neck and Lynch’s hands in K’s hair, he would tell you “It barely hurts.” ( 9/10, but he’s optimistic it will go down to at least 7. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	i hate u, i love u

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. This is my second fic and it probably has so many grammer mistakes, you could count them for days, but whatever, I tried, really. :D  
> I hope you will enjoy it. :)  
> R&R :)

It's the middle of the night, it’s cold and.. lonely. Proko doesn’t like that word, **_lonely_** –it reminds him of a childhood spent in an empty mansion while his parents were who knows where doing who knows what. He was a naïve child then. Hoping, _praying_ they would just come _home._

( They came 2 weeks later and little Yuri still felt alone.

 _They had been gone for too long._ )

Now, while he is laying on his bed with a blank look in his blue eyes, he can feel  the loneliness crawling and scratching his walls. He is sober and drug-free and he just want it to-

_Go away. Just go away, please._

**_You’re really pathetic. Well done, asshole, well fucking done. It’s no wonder he’s more interested in Ro-_ **

_Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._

He can hear the music playing downstairs, probably some remix Skov made. The party had started a few hours ago, but Proko went upstairs after half an hour feeling sick to his stomach. He’s not surprised, really, he got used to it by now, being the second choice. If you had the balls to ask him how much does it hurt, seeing K and Ronan Fucking Lynch next to each other with K’s lips on Lynch’s neck and Lynch’s hands in K’s hair, he would tell you “It barely hurts.” ( 9/10, but he’s optimistic it will go down to at least 7. )

_K can do whatever he wants._

He thinks about the bottle of rakia he stashed beside his bed; to get smashed or not? He had stolen the bottle from his father last summer- nothing can beat the taste of home made cливовиця. Except K’s addictive lips and K’s cock and K’s cum. _Except Joseph Kavinsky._

Fuck, he’s addicted to that asshole.

He reaches out for the bottle, thinking _Why the hell not?_ He opens it and take one big gulp. He can feel the liquor burning his throat, it’s so strong it makes him shudder. The keys from his car are on the bedside table, and he’s debating whether he should go on a drive or not. Of course he’s going on a drive. Everything is better than staying in this room. While he is gathering enough power to actually sit up, the door opens. There is a dip of the bed followed by a smell of an alcohol and hand that’s making it’s way around his waist. Cold and rough fingers are under his shirt, tracing his abdomen softly like they’re whispering a prayer. But K is not soft, _Not_ _with me_ , so it’s probably just his imagination-Proko’s pipe dream.

“I missed you downstairs.” K murmurs into Proko’s ear, his breath ghosting over Proko’s earlobe like a breeze across the Danube on hot summer day. ( And K is a lot like the Danube, wild, angry and untouchable. It can destroy you in the most beautiful way. And it’s destroying Proko. ) Proko doesn’t turn around. He can’t look into K’s eyes because he will drown in them, in those beautiful, endless eyes that are, ironically, dark blue like the Dunabe, like veins, like stormy sky.

“Proko, Proko, Proko,” Kavinsky nuzzles Proko’s neck and he smirks when it makes Proko shiver. “You’re lucky I’m in the mood.” His right hand is traveling up, leaving ghosts of his fingers all over the road that’s leading to Proko’s heart. When it finally finds it’s destination, K’s other hand pulls Proko’s hair until Proko is on his back and between K’s legs, with K above him. The hand that was in Proko’s hair merely 2 seconds ago is now on right side of his head caressing his cheek, while K’s other hand is still under Proko’s shirt, right above his heart.

Kavinsky bends lower and lower until his lips are on Proko’s throat. His tongue  and teeth are leaving wet marks all over, waiting for Proko to react like he always do, with a moan and a jerk of his hips meant to bring him closer to Kavinsky. He waits for Proko’s hand to grab his ass, for Proko’s lips to chase his. But Proko doesn’t react at all. ( Except for his lower part, it reacts, alright. In Proko’s defense, he usually turns into panting mess when K is like this, so he calls this a big success. ) He is too angry, too sad, too empty to react. His hands lay motionless by his side, his right hand still holding the bottle. He spilled a little on the bed, but there is still enoguh liquor to get drunk. ( Like really, really drunk, because rakia is the Goddess. )

Kavinsky growls into Proko’s neck and bites really hard making Proko hiss and squirm under him. He kisses that spot and then moves his head up, his eyes still fixed on a bruise that’s forming. _It’s a masterpiece_ , he thinks with a smirk. He is proud of this one. _He is mine. Mine._

When he finishes admiring his work, his eyes trail over Proko’s face, until they met with Proko’s eyes. What he sees in them makes his whole body freeze.

He never saw this look in Proko’s eyes.

Lie.

He saw it every time he mentioned Ronan Lynch, every time they fucked and he called out Ronan’s name, he saw it the morning after when he pretended he didn’t do just that, when he woke up in a Hospital after he almost overdosed, _again_. He saw it when he beat the shit out of him, when he left him on the bathroom floor bleeding, when he..

He just ignored it.

K’s heart skips a beat. And not in the good way.

Proko’s empty gaze shifts from K’s eyes to K’s neck and jaw making his whole body go rigid. There stood two hickeys made by mouth that weren't his. Made by Ronan Fucking Lynch. Made by someone who probably didn’t want to fuck with Kavinsky; it probably left him angry and horny so he came to find Proko, because he knows Proko would never say no.

K scoffs to cover his emotions and he bends down to capture Proko’s lips. But Proko doesn’t respond. His lips stay in a firm line even when K bites his lower lip. When K doesn’t get a respond he craves, his right hand grabs Proko’s jaw, nails digging into sensitive flesh. ( K knows how Proko’s body is sensitive. He likes it that way. )

“What is the problem here, Pro-ko-pen-ko?” He is angry now. _Who does he think he is?_

Proko smirks, but his eyes are still so, so empty. It makes K shiver. _What the fuck is happening?_ Proko’s free hand reaches K’s hand that’s clawing his jaw. K’s shoulders relax, making him aware that he went stiff. Why was he nervous? It’s just Prokopenko.  He smirks back.

“Proko, Proko. Are you going to tell me why are you being a di-“ Suddenly he is pushed on the other side of the bed and Proko is standing beside his bedside table looking even worse. Their eyes meet again. Proko’s are still so, so empty, but K’s are full of surprise and, is that _hurt_?

_No, no. K doesn’t get a right to feel hurt. Fuck him._

Proko averts his gaze first, he reaches for his keys and cigarettes and heads towards door.

“Proko, what the hell?” K stands up too, fast and furious like an animal going out for a kill. He reaches the door before Proko does, blocking them. “ Proko,” he begins again when Proko stops in front of him. “If you’re going to continue being a fucking fuck, you’re just going to make me more angry. And we don’t want that, right? You know how I am when I’m angry.” He takes a step towards Proko, like a predator, expecting Proko to finally cave in, to step back, to stop being so weird and unemotional. But Proko just stays right where he is, his eyes fixed on those fucking hickeys. K notices that. He barks a laugh even if there’s nothing funny. ( He ignores that Proko didn’t take step back. )

“I know you’re jealous, but come on, _babe_ , you fucking know I have my cravings now and then, cravings you can’t fill in.“ It was the wrong thing to say, K realizes when Proko’s eyes widenes and his breath hitches. Kavinsky would never admit it, but he felt the panic crawling his whole body.

Proko closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. _It’s not fair, I loved you first. I love you. I love you. I love you._

But he doesn’t say anything, he just bypasses still frozen K, exits the room and starts descending down the stairs. He can feel the beat of the bass, can hear people talking and laughing and he is so, so sick of them.

“Proko, you fucking pussy, come back here!” K yells after him, attracting people’s attention. It makes him go even faster, but he is stopped by warm hand that belongs to Swan.

“Proko?” He asks with his honey-colored voice and it takes all of Proko’s willpower not to start crying. He’s on the edge already, and Swan, with his warm eyes and warm heart, will probably push him.

In the meantime, Skov directs people’s attention towards something else and Jiang goes to stop Kavinsky from attacking Proko. He pushes him towards the kitchen all while Kavinsky swears and trashes.

“Let me fucking go, you fucking asshole! I’ll fucking kill you, Prokopenko!”

“Proko?” Swan asks again. Proko just looks at him and Swan understands.

Sometimes ( more often then Proko would like to admit ), he would feel like this, sad and alone, desperate for something, _someone_ to be by his side, just for a minute. And most of the time, someone is. Whether it is Skov or Swan or Jiang ( Never K, _never_. ), they would pull him out of his head-be it by drinks, drugs, punch in the face or fast ride. ( They make one big dysfunctional family, but family nontheless. ) But now, now **_he_** _just **wants** to be alone_.

Well, there’s the first time for everything.

“Do you want someone to come with you?” Swan touches Proko’s upper arm. He shakes his head in an answer. “ Are you sure? You know we don’t mind.” Proko just stares at Swan until Swan doesn’t let Proko go. “Okay. Bring your phone so we can call you. Don’t end up dead in the ditch.”

Proko gives him a small smile and nods his head in confirmation.

With cigarettes and the bottle of rakia in his hand and broken heart in his chest, he goes towards his destruction.

 

* * *

After he got in his car, Proko went towards the highway; there he could drive fast as he want, he could drink himself to death.

He almost did.

Right before he crashed and ended up in a ditch, he thought _K won’t miss me. It’s okay._

_K won’t miss me, it’s okay._

**_I miss you._ **

_K won’t miss me, it’s okay._

**_I miss you._ **

_K won’t miss me, it’s okay._

**_I miss you._ **

_K won’t miss me, it’s okay._

**_I fucking miss you, asshole. Wake up._ **

**_Please._ **

Right before he opened his eyes, he thought _K won’t miss me. It’s okay._

“Proko? Proko! Go get a doctor, right fucking now! He’s waking up!” He can hear voices. Isn’t he dead? “Proko, hey, man, Proko. Come on. Open your fucking eyes for us. Come on.” He can hear one desperate voice calling him. It’s Swan.

He groans and opens his eyes. He can see Swan’s eyes and big grin on his face, and, are those tears? Fuck, is Swan crying? By wetness that he can feel on his face, Proko is pretty sure Swan is, in fact, crying. Suddenly, Swan is pushed by hands that are so familiar and so beautiful. Same hands are touching his face, his hair, his hands. Proko’s eyes finally meet Kavinsky’s.

Kavinsky looks like he haven’t slept in a very long time. His eyes are bloodshot, he has a stubble and Proko is pretty sure he lost some weight. Oh, and there is one fading bruise on his left eye. Proko tries to move his hand towards K’s face, _Just a little bit more_ , but Kavinsky is shooed away by people in white, _Doctors_ , Proko thinks. Then it dawns on him, he is in a fucking hospital, he crashed, he was supposed to be dead. Dead. Dead.

They give him water and then they talk for a while, they ask if he remembers anything ( He nods. ), they tell him he was asleep for about 2 weeks ( “2 fucking weeks, asshole. Next time you do something like this, I’m going to kill you myself. Understand?” Jiang asks, but Proko can hear fear and pain in his voice. Proko just nods, but it makes him grimace. It fucking hurt to move. ), they tell him they will inform his parents that he is awake ( “Fucking pricks. Couldn’t come here to see you. “ Skov’s voice is angry. This information doesn’t surprise Proko, really. He’s used to it. ), they tell him something about discharge, but he’s not listening them anymore. He is distracted by cold hand in his. He knows those fingers, knows tattoos there, know the coldness it brings. He turns his head towards K. Proko drags his eyes all over him, taking him in.

He looks even smaller, with his shoulders slacked and a big t-shirt on him. Proko furrowes his eyebrows. That’s his shirt. Why is Kavinsky wearing his shirt? What is happening?

Kavinsky notices the questioning look Proko is giving to his chest. He looks down and freeze. Fucking fuck, he forgot he is wearing that. Talk about embarassment. But then he thinks about all the time he saw Proko in one of K’s shirt, how he liked it on him. It marked Proko as his. ( He is possessive like that. Sue him. And in his defense about Proko’s shirt, well, it smelled like him. So fuck off. ) And he relaxes.

But then Proko takes his hand from K’s and K freeze again.

Proko is reaching for something. K meets his eyes ( He is determined not to show that he misses Proko’s hand in his. ) and brings one eyebrow up in question.

Proko lifts his hand ( hardly, mind you, because he is in fucking pain. ), grabs K’s shirt, _his shirt_ , and pulls. He pulls until K’s not bend low enough for Proko to touch K’s face. He touches the bruise first, K let a hiss, but doesn’t  move. Then he traces K’s nose, K’s cheekbones, K’s stubble, K’s jaw and finally K’s lips.

K exhales one long breath that ghost over Proko’s fingers. He takes Proko’s hand in his and kisses them. Proko is suprised. K never did this, he was never gentle with him. _Never with me._  

And then K says:

“I missed you.”

_K won’t miss me. It’s okay._

“I missed you,  you fucking asshole.”

_K won’t miss me. It’s okay._

“Please.” _Say something._

And then K kisses him, it’s painful and beautiful, and short he doesn’t have time to kiss him back; he craves it so much. K pulls back, his gaze resting on Proko’s lips.

“Is this a dream?” Proko asks with his eyes half-closed like he’s afraid of an answer.

**Proko’s pipe dream.**

And K is so relived and happy, fucking happy that Proko’s talking to him, that he is awake, he doesn’t register what Proko just said.

( That night, Proko haven’t said anything to him. K had to live for two weeks with an ache and an absence of Proko’s silk voice, Proko’s beautiful eyes, Proko’s hands, Proko’s mouth. He had to live with Proko’s empty gaze and Proko’s sadness and loneliness. )

( That night, K took a bottle of the strongest alcohol and went back into Proko’s room, laying on his bed with his head burrowed in Proko’s pillow. He tried to get drunk, he really did. But Proko’s empty eyes were haunting him every time he closed his eyes. So, when Jiang barged into a room with murderous gaze on him, he was sober and ready to fight. But he still didn’t see Jiang’s fist, but he surely felt it. Before he could hit back, Jiang said: “ Proko was in a crash, he’s in a hospital. You pray to fucking God, yours and mine, and to every fucking Saint thing alike that he survives. Because if he doesn’t.. “ But K heard enough. He pushed past Jiang, past Swan and Skov and into his Mitsubishi and he drove to the hospital like his life was depending on it. And it did. )

“Fuck, it’s a dream. I’m dead, right?” Proko starts to ramble when K just keeps staring at him like his life depends on Proko’s voice. “Fucking fuck, of course I’m dead. You wouldn’t watch me like that if it’s not a Heaven. Or fucking Hell. Fucking shit. This is not what I had in mind when I said that it’s okay, okay? Fucking hell. Fuck you.” He hears a snicker that comes from the door. He turns his head that way and he see laughing Skov, Swan and Jiang. _Fucking assholes, why are they laughing. I’m dead and they’re laughing._

They wave at him and then close the door, leaving him with his dream/heaven/hell.

**With Proko’s pipe dream.**

There are hands on his face, tugging until he turns around and locks his eyes with K’s.

“You’re not dead, prick. You’re pretty much alive.”

Proko just stares at him.

“Proko.” K’s voice is a whisper now. “Proko,” he kisses Proko’s forehead. “Proko,” he kisses Proko’s eyelids, kisses Proko’s nose, his cheeks, his jaw, his lips. “Proko. Proko. Proko.” He says Proko’s name like it’s a prayer.

Proko kisses back. And then K is pretty sure _he_ is in Heaven.

“Proko.” K pulls back, again. “ I..” Proko looks into K’s eyes and he smiles. There it is. That’s what he was looking for. What he searched and searched into K’s eyes, day after day, but it was never there. Until now. K’s guard is down for the first time since K kissed him for the first time. It’s down and his eyes are shining and they’re so out of character, but Proko doesn’t care. He finally sees it.

He sees **love** and **happiness.** He sees **fear** and **sadness** and **relief**.

He sees his home.

“I love you too. “ Proko whispers against K’s lips. He tries to kiss K, but K’s lips are streching into wide smile, true smile that shows K’s perfect teeth.

“Say it again.” K demands.

“Fuck off, asshole.”

“I love you too. “ K whispers finally into Proko’s ear and Proko is sure he’s having his happily ever after, after all. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He tangles his fingers into Proko’s hair and brings Proko’s lips closer until they’re kissing again.

“It’s okay.”

He and K are strong, they’re going to make it.

Proko shifts around until he makes enough room for K to lay beside him. And K does. They tangle together; Proko’s head is on K’s chest, their hands clasped together.

“BTW, I like you in my shirt. Makes me all horny.”

“Fuck off, fucking ass.” But K smiles his real small smile and it makes Proko smile to. K brushes his nose against Proko’s hair and whispers “ Don’t ever leave me.”

 

 

 


End file.
